Sunday, June 01, 2008
The Sands of Time
One day last week I looked out the window to the backyard and did a double-take. There appeared to be a small baby perched on the tire swing! I soon realized it was a doll left there by the neighbor girls who come to play on our swings and in the clubhouse, which have long been unused by our children.
My gaze wandered to the nearby sandbox, and I was surprised and a little dismayed at to see how overgrown it had become with grass, weeds, and even a 4-foot tall volunteer elm tree. Thinking that The Little Princess might enjoy the sandbox on a future summer visit, I knew I had an instant Saturday morning reclamation project.
It took more time than I thought it would. I pulled up the grass and weeds fairly easily, but the elm had deep roots. I dug down about 18 inches before I got all the roots which had penetrated the black plastic liner below the sand. I decided to tug out the ripped old liner, and put new plastic down.
At first, I shoveled the sand aside, but then I found it was easier to move it by armfuls. Soon I was down on my hands and knees, pulling the sand toward me, then pushing it behind me. The sand was cool, and slightly moist. There was something soothing about the way it sifted down through my fingers. I found buried treasure--an abandoned toy car, a plastic horse, a play dish, a tennis ball, a blue turtle, a very large rock, a broken Tupperware lid (wonder if their lifetime warranty excludes “sandbox use”?) and a tent stake. (Perhaps the kids had been playing vampire slayer?!)
I looked furtively from side to side. No one was watching. I energetically made some giant piles, and then vigorously punched them down—just moving the sand to the other side of the box. (Of course.) I burrowed my hand down deep into the sand, then pulled it out in a mini earthquake—just testing for the depth of the liner. (Of course.) I took handfuls of sand and threw them to the far side of the box. (Because throwing sand in a sandbox is instinctive.) I mused momentarily on the happy hours my children had spent imaginatively excavating and building in the sandbox.
After working for nearly three hours, I had cleared the sandbox of all the debris, and moved several wheelbarrow loads of sand to my Key Limey’s garden. I surveyed my handiwork, and decided it was fit for The Little Princess, as well as the neighbor girls and their baby doll.
Then I went over to the trampoline and did 15 exhilarating seat drops in a row—just testing the springs. (Of course.)
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